Misjudging the Billionaire

Chapter One

Sunlight poured into her bedroom from around the maroon curtains. After slowly opening her eyes, it took a moment before Eva’s panic set in. She pulled her blanket aside and shot out of bed, racing to the bathroom and cursing herself out for having overslept yet again.

She thought she’d remembered to set her alarm the night before, but evidently she’d forgotten. That, or she’d accidentally shut if off instead of hitting the snooze button for the millionth time. She’d been having the same reoccurring dream that had been plaguing her for the last few months. In this short dream that never seemed to change, her wedding day was upon her and she was indescribably nervous. It always began as she was entering the church in her gorgeous white gown, yet it came to an abrupt end just after walking down the isle. The groom kept his back turned to her the entire time, and she was never quite able to see his face. Just as he’d turn towards her, that’s when she’d awaken even more bewildered than the first time she’d had the bizarre dream. Twenty-four-years-old and single, marriage rarely crossed Eva’s her mind throughout the day and she was certainly in no rush to wed.

She was frustrated by the groom’s unidentifiable face, yet a small part of her had to admit that the mystery kept the anticipation building and was oddly exciting. She hoped that when she did meet the right man, she’d sleep long enough for the enigmatic groom in her dream to be revealed as him. It felt like an old, familiar fairytale, and once she found her soul mate she hoped it would unfold like one. She would walk down the aisle to the man of her dreams as teary-eyed onlookers watched the ceremony unfold. He would be kind, handsome, and they would exchange the vows they‘d written and rehearsed. From there, they would leave the church together to embark on their modest honeymoon. When they returned, they would settle into their simple little lives away from the hustle and bustle of the big city.

Nothing sounded better to Eva. She had grown up in small home with her mother and two half-brothers in a rough part of the city, and although they were far from rich, they always had enough to get by. She was raised to appreciate everything, and taught that money wasn’t the key to happiness. It was important to her to hold on to those ideals and one day pass them on to her children.

“Not too much, not too little, but enough to make us happy,” Eva could remember her mother saying one year as they gathered around a Thanksgiving dinner. She hoped that she could find a man willing to embrace that simple life with her as it sounded much more appealing than living like one of the rich snobs she had to deal with on a daily basis. The city’s most successful men and women would crowd into her restaurant and flaunt their money while looking down their noses at the lowly wait staff who served them.

Their attempt to impress her monetarily had the opposite effect on the young server who had been raised so humbly. She didn’t dislike the wealthy, but she did have a growing disdain for those who so flagrantly flaunted their affluence. Eva believed that if you were well-off, you should keep it to yourself and never use your bank account to win favor. Working at the five-star restaurant Bon Appétit, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by the snobs she’d encounter day in and day out. The establishment was off the beaten path being almost thirty minutes from the city’s bustling business district, yet had somehow developed a cult following among the city’s wealthiest socialites. They’d order the most expensive items on the menu, then showboat by tipping her way too much for her service. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the tips, she just viewed them as excessive and somehow condescending. These elitists merely wanted to brag by tossing large denominations down like it was nothing, and they rarely even made eye contact with her.

After springing from bed, Eva had glanced at the clock as she hurried to the shower and noted that she was a half an hour behind schedule. She’d missed her bus and knew by the time she lined up a taxi and made it into work she’d be at least an hour late. Making matters worse was this being the third time that this had happened in the last month alone. Frantically flipping through her phone book, she called a cab before jumping in the shower to rinse off. Five minutes later, she toweled off and dusted a soft gold shadow across her eyelids. The color looked striking against her ebony skin, accentuating the big, dark eyes she was so often complimented on. That is, when people actually took notice of her.

Her boss, Mr. Jameson, was not going to be happy with her. She desperately needed the job, but these early morning shifts were hard for her to deal with. She didn’t exactly live in the best apartment building, and her upstairs neighbors regularly stayed up late partying. As if their hooting and hollering, mixed with the bass from their excessive stereo system, wasn’t enough, her downstairs neighbors had a baby whose bedroom was located directly below hers. She loved kids, but this baby would wake up crying around midnight every single night, and even earplugs didn’t block out the wails. Rest was nearly impossible but, on her wages, so was the idea of moving. Yes, she did get tipped exceedingly well, but the city was expensive and she had far too many bills preventing her from relocating to a quieter, safer building anytime soon.

Offering her a degree of comfort and companionship was her floppy-eared mixed-breed dog, Burley. What he lacked in brains he made up for in cuteness; a soft brown mix of what appeared to be hound and corgi, although Eva wasn’t entirely sure. She had adopted him three years earlier, and he was already two-years-old when she brought him home. They immediately became best friends, and she liked to think that his wagging tail helped keep her sane. Checking to make sure her four-legged buddy had water in his bowl, she darted out the door and quickly made her way outside to wait for her cab. Her own car, a beat up Ford Tempo from the late 1980’s, had finally died on her six months earlier and she’d been relying on public transportation and taxis ever since. She desperately needed a new vehicle, but even a cheap one was out of her budget.

Knowing Mr. Jameson was going to be fuming either way, she didn’t bother calling ahead to tell him that she was on her way. At this point there wasn’t much she could do about it, and decided to let the short man with a bad temper yell at her face-to-face instead of over the phone.

When the car pulled up to Bon Appétit, she paid the cabbie and lingered on the sidewalk before heading inside. She knew she was wasting precious seconds, yet hesitated anyhow in fear of Mr. Jameson’s reaction. Her fear proved justifiable as she slinked into the restaurant and immediately saw her portly, balding boss yelling at a dishwasher over something that likely didn’t deserve his overblown reaction. He treated his employees terribly, but thanks to the current recession they all took the abuse. Like her, they all had bills to pay.

“Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up,” he growled before she even had a chance to tie her apron.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” he interrupted her in anger. “I have a business to run, and you have a job to do. If you don’t want that job, just let me know right now because you‘re definitely replaceable,” he sneered. “Do you want your job? Well? Do you?” Mr. Jameson wasn’t giving her any time to reply. With his face red and the veins in his neck bulging, Eva could easily picture him keeling over from a heart attack and wouldn’t have been sad if he did.

“I want this job, sir, I’ll—” she tried to begin again, but he was in no mood to listen.

“Then tie that apron and get out there right now. We’ve had customers waiting for nearly ten minutes!” Mr. Jameson turned away and stormed into his office, slamming the door behind him.

A flustered Eva mouthed a silent “fuck you” and flashed her middle finger at his office door. She didn’t like being yelled at, and being chewed out in front of other employees was both humiliating and degrading. The dishwasher flashed her a sympathetic look that told her he also felt her pain. Taking a deep breath, she regained her composure and headed into the packed dining room. The amount of guests who sat waiting to either receive or place an order left Eva wondering what her other coworkers had been doing in her absence. Then again, she had always been one of the establishment’s more diligent workers, and the current look of frustration on the customers’ faces reminded her of this. She’d grown accustomed to handling the majority of the work since the other waitresses were busy attempting to flirt with the wealthy patrons. The restaurant had no waiters as Mr. Jameson was quite vocal about hiring only females for his wait staff. He knew the kind of high-rollers his lucrative business snagged, and he knew the men always spent more with women around to impress. His male employees were relegated to the kitchen where they’d prepare the food and wash the dishes, never to be seen by any of the establishment’s guests.

Out on the floor, Eva immediately spotted an attractive man sitting alone in the middle of the room. He was at a table that could have seated four people, and it was obvious that he was anticipating company. He sat impatiently tapping on the menu with his eyes locked on the restaurant’s entrance, clearly annoyed that whomever was meeting him was late. As she approached his table he pried his eyes away from the front door and looked her up and down with a kind smile.

“Hello, my name is Eva and I’ll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink?” She repeated this same introduction hundreds of times each week, and the words easily flowed off her tongue as she pulled out her pen and pad.

“Seltzer water, please, and can I get a side of you?” he joked with a wink. Eva rolled her eyes while fighting to keep the fake smile plastered to her face. She had heard every cheesy pick-up line in the book during the two years she’d worked there, with this tired one being no exception.

Although seated, she could tell that he was a tall man, and more noticeable was his decent frame that housed rather pronounced muscles. She didn’t make a habit out of admiring the clientele, but his powerful chest was hard to miss, as were the veins in his forearms that hinted the rest of him was also quite strong. Unlike the other men seated in the restaurant, he wasn’t wearing a suit, but rather a pressed blue button-up shirt with its sleeves folded up to his elbows and a pair of black slacks. His thin red tie was accented by a silver clip that simply had capital “D” engraved on its center, and she guessed that his black Italian loafers easily set him back a few hundred bucks. His sandy hair was the perfect compliment to his light skin, and his blue eyes were undeniably inviting. There was a hint of something in them that she couldn’t quite identify, perhaps a deep sadness, and as he looked up at her with a warm smile she could feel her cheeks grow flushed. He was strikingly handsome, but clearly did quite well for himself and Eva pushed aside the attraction. While easy on the eyes, the man looked like one of the Bon Appétit’s typical highbrows, and that alone was enough to turn her off.

“I’ll have that right out,” she replied and tucked her pen back into her apron pocket. The man watched her disappear into the kitchen, not at all offended that she’d snubbed his flirtatious remark. A few moments later, Eva returned with his water and he accepted it with a another friendly smile.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked while uncharacteristically avoiding eye contact with the man. She knew the importance of customer service, and always made a point to slap on a smile and look directly at guests while waiting on them. Even if they didn’t extend the same courtesy, she tried not to let it phase her and kept her upbeat, polite demeanor. This man was different, however. Unlike the elitists who were generally dismissive of her, this man wasn’t afraid to meet her eyes and exuded a warmth most other guests did not. Her gaze may have been averted, but she could sense him looking at her and, not wanting to be rude, she finally returned the contact. She found him looking up at her with a welcoming grin that seemed genuine enough.

“I’ll have the eggs Benedict with a side of bacon, if you’d be so kind,” he answered while placing his menu back down on the table. “And I’m sorry about my comment earlier,” he added. “Joke gone bad. My apologies.”

Her smile was instantly transformed from fake to real by the earnestness in which he spoke. She felt herself beginning to blush again and let out a small chuckle.

“It’s okay, really. It’s just been a rough morning so far. I’ll get that order right in for you.”

Something about this man made her forget about the lousy start to her shift, and she found herself rushing back to the kitchen with a small smile. With his order added to the queue, she headed back onto the floor to attend to the other guests, none of whom were nearly as polite as her first customer of the day had been. She’d occasionally glance over at his table to find him still sitting there, hunched over his laptop while picking away at the breakfast he’d ordered. She could feel his blue eyes on her whenever she’d pass him on her way to he kitchen, yet his stare didn’t make her uncomfortable. She tried not to meet his eyes again, worried he might take it as a sign of flirtation. She had to admit, however, that the attention was quite flattering. For once, a guest had seemingly taken a sincere interest in her without resorting to flashing money. She was curious to see if that would change in leaving her a tip.

A lively table in the far corner of the room ordered six glasses of the restaurant’s most expensive champagne. A deep crimson, it had aged the longest of any the establishment carried and boasted a price tag of three hundred dollars per bottle. Eva would never voice her opinion aloud while on the job, but that didn’t stop her from thinking it.

It’s 10:30 in the morning. Fucking rich people, she thought as she poured the expensive merlot into six glass flutes. She’d seen overpriced alcohol served in this restaurant more times than she could count, yet she couldn’t get over what she perceived to be such frivolous waste. The tab these people racked up in booze alone was enough to feed her for months, yet they didn’t think twice about it and would often times leave a bottle unfinished. A week earlier, she’d spotted a baby wearing shoes that easily cost more than what she made in two paychecks. A baby, mind you, who couldn’t even walk.

You’d never know Eva was having these dour thoughts as she carefully placed the bottle of champagne onto the table with both hands. Whatever a waitress broke came out of her paycheck, and in a restaurant with such outrageous prices Eva couldn’t afford to have her pay docked over a clumsy mishap. She set the bottle down gingerly with a smile and politeness that showcased what a solid work ethic she had. She liked proving to Mr. Jameson that she was a standout among the staff and that, although she was late from time to time, she was well worth his pay. The other waitresses moved much slower and were prone to wearing their moods on their sleeves. If they were having a bad day,

they’d take and deliver orders with a scowl. Eva, on the other hand, was able to keep up with the pace of the restaurant and always managed look good doing it, regardless of the day she was having.

Balancing a serving tray loaded with plates of discarded food high above the heads of the seated guests, Eva skillfully navigated her way across the busy room. Her attractive admirer was so engrossed in the morning paper he’d replaced his laptop with that, for the first time all morning, he didn’t notice her cutting past his table. She had just stepped behind him when he abruptly slid his chair back resulting in a collision that sent her tray, and the remnants of meals she’d piled onto it, raining down on both herself and handsome man who’d unexpectedly backed into her. Her white uniform was immediately stained with a combination of uneaten chicken parmesan and shrimp scampi, and her mysterious observer’s suit didn’t look any better. He was covered in noodles and sauces, with every face in the restaurant sitting silently and watching the debacle unfold.

“Oh my god, I am so, so sorry, sir! Here, let me get that,” she pleaded apologetically, grabbing a napkin from his table and blotting away at his shirt. He’d shot out of his chair when the tray had crashed down, and Eva realized she’d underestimated his height. He was quite tall indeed, easily standing six-feet-three or four, and towered over her relatively short frame. She was only five-feet-five herself, she had to stand on her tiptoes just to reach his shoulders.

With pasta sauce nearly impossible to get out, Eva knew his shirt was ruined yet continued dabbing away in short bursts while spewing more apologies. Her face was already red from embarrassment, but after a quick glance around the room it turned an even brighter shade. All eyes were on her, a hushed silence having fallen over the room, and she could see Mr. Jameson peering out from the kitchen with a look of rage.

“No, no, no, it was totally my fault. I should have looked before I moved my chair back. I’m an idiot. Are you okay?” He seemed to be even more apologetic than she was, his face also red with embarrassment as he reached for another napkin to began blotting away at his shirt as well. To her relief, a couple of her coworkers rushed over to help clean up the mess. Eva disappeared into the kitchen to grab a roll of paper towels, passing her furious boss along the way.

“Hey, we need to—” he began, only to be interrupted by a frustrated Eva.

“Not right now,” she snarled at him.

In the sanctuary of the kitchen, away from all of the onlookers, she placed her forearm on the wall and rested her head against it, trying her hardest not to cry. Mr. Jameson had ventured onto the floor to apologize to the man directly, and Eva knew he wouldn’t be charging the handsome customer for his meal. That would be coming out of her paycheck for sure, and she chastised herself for making such a boneheaded move. After changing her shirt with a spare from the restaurant’s break room, she lingered in the kitchen for a few minutes to regain her composure and her dignity before heading back into the restaurant. The loaded room already seemed to have forgotten about the incident, and for the first time in a long while she was truly glad to be ignored. She noticed the rugged but kind stranger had left, and after thanking her two coworkers for their help she returned to his table to finish cleaning the mess she’d made. To her surprise, she found a note left alongside three crisp one hundred dollar bills.

Eva,

I deeply apologize for being so clumsy. I’ve assured your manager that the fault was all mine and, despite his insistence, I still paid for my wonderful meal in full. Don’t beat yourself up over an accident that wasn’t your fault, and use this money to replace the clothes I so carelessly ruined. Thank you for your excellent service, and the next time we meet I‘ll try not to cause another scene!

-Devon